But with you I've learned just to let it out
by ZBBZL
Summary: They're not good with words, neither of them, but they don't really need them anyway. It's a small gesture but it means a dozen things. I'll be careful. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you alone in this mess. Bellamy/Clarke.


**Title**: _But with you I've learned just to let it out (when I used to be afraid of the words)_  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Bellamy/Clarke  
><strong>Timeline<strong>: set in the future

**A/N**: Wow. I have no idea how this turned into a 11K monster. But it did, and I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think. :)

Title from Ella Henderson's _Yours_.

* * *

><p>When they finally make it to the ocean months later, they are much less than what she'd hoped – <em>eighty-two alive<em>, she still hears herself tell Bellamy in what feels like another lifetime – but Clarke shakes her head, berating herself for thinking like this. Bellamy would say something about honoring the dead by living if she voiced out her thoughts, and he _has_ before, his comforting words all the inspiration she needs to get up and put one foot in front of the other some days.

It's a little bit ironic, she thinks, that he sees her as their _real_ leader, when Clarke knows for sure that she couldn't have done any of this without _him_.

He's standing by her side when her shoes dig into the sand, and for one brief moment, Clarke allows herself to enjoy the scenery: the light breeze that makes lost curls fly around her face and the taste of salt that invades her mouth as she breathes in; the softness of the warm sand as she bends to cup it in her hands; the sun reflecting on the immensity of blue that surrounds them. There's a lullaby to the quiet rush of the waves against the shore and the birds singing, a soft melody that's different from the turn of leaves and the pretty flowers in the woods. It's even more beautiful than she'd imagined, and if she could, Clarke would happily sit there with a paint box and try to figure out the right shade for sunlight on ocean blue forever. She turns to Bellamy, feeling a thrill of excitement run down her spine, to the tips of her fingers and down to her toes, but he's not even looking at the ocean; instead he's gazing at _her_, a fond smile gracing his lips, soft and a little amused.

Bellamy does that sometimes; he looks at her like she's precious, or like he still can't believe she's really here. So many things happened since they first landed on Earth and hated each other, and they've _almost_ lost each other so many times, Clarke understands the feeling. She did _lose_ him, did think he was dead, that _she_ had _killed_ him, so she knows she looks at him the same way; that sometimes, she reaches for him for no reason, just to feel his skin against her fingers, to prove herself that he's not an illusion, a dream or a nightmare haunting her.

"Wanna go for a swim?" he asks, tilting his head to the ocean. _Of course she does_. The days are getting colder, so who knows how long they have until the water turns to ice? – until they see ice and snow for the first time with their own eyes. But there are so many things to do before, like settle camp and build shelters and walls and gather wood and berries and – "I know that look," Bellamy interrupts her train of thoughts, his large hand covering her shoulder before he squeezes lightly. "The world is not gonna end because you take five minutes off, Princess," he says, the nickname rolling on his tongue with a softness that wasn't there in the beginning. "Look around you. We _all_ need five minutes."

They do. Clarke looks around and everybody looks like they could use a break. They've been hiking for five days, but despite the exhaustion showing on their faces, there's still elation glowing on their features. _They've made it_ – it's been one hell after another, but they're finally here, and they're together and they're alive and this is the start of something new and excitement is stronger than exhaustion. "Okay," Clarke agrees, shrugging off her jacket and letting it fall to the sand before she unzips her pants and kicks off her shoes. "Five minutes, and then we need to get started," she insists, lifting a finger at him as if he were a child.

Bellamy grins, mirroring her as he takes off his shoes, pants and shirt. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Princess," he says, and then before she can say anything he's throwing her over his shoulder like she weighs no more than a feather and he runs towards the water.

"Bellamy!" Clarke shrieks, because _what the hell_? But he just laughs, and really, _everybody's_ laughing – Jasper's looking at them like his biggest regret is not having a camera to record this, Miller's whooping, telling Bellamy to drop her, and Octavia's smiling for the first time since Lincoln has parted ways with them to go talk to a clan living nearby. "Put me down!" she demands, and Clarke hates herself for sounding more amused than annoyed.

Bellamy loosens his grip on her, but just enough to let her slide into his arms as he tucks one arm under her knees and the other at her back, before lowering her just above the water. "Like this?" he asks cheekily – God, she swears she's going to wipe that stupid smirk off his lips. "You do need a bath, after all."

"Bellamy," she hisses, her voice a warning. They don't have time for this, and they can't afford risking catching a cold because they want to be young and carefree for five minutes – they can be young and carefree when their camp is settled and they have food and a warm fire burning.

He rolls his eyes, looking like he wants to argue, but finally puts her down gently on her feet, his hands lingering at her waist as if he expects her to run and start bossing him around. The water is cold as it licks her feet, but there's that thrill again running through her, warmth and excitement taking over. "We've made it," she murmurs like it's a secret, her own hands lifting to his arms as she cups his biceps, squeezing lightly.

His eyes spark at her enthusiasm. It's in moments like these that Bellamy remembers she's just a kid – an eighteen year-old kid with the weight of the world and the lives of their friends on her shoulders, but a kid all the same – and she's a sight for sore eyes, beaming smile and pink flush tinting her skin, her blue eyes gleaming with joy, an angel from the books he used to read with his mother. She's so beautiful when she's being young and carefree. "We've made it," he echoes, and it's as if it only really dawns on him in that moment. They're both alive, and Octavia's alive, and it's everything he's fought for. He doesn't know when Clarke became part of the equation, when his life stopped revolving exclusively around trying to protect Octavia at all costs and started including her, too, but it _did_ and there's no going back – not that he wants to.

Her hands drift down his arms, and she grabs one of his, tugging at it as she sits on the beach, legs in the water, and he follows – _of course he does_. He's vaguely aware of the others following them, shedding their clothes on the beach and running excitedly in the cold water, but Bellamy can't really help staring at Clarke. She's smiling and he's missed it; the frown that has taken up residence between her eyes makes her look so much older and, _God_, she's just a kid and she deserves to live a little and have fun – happiness is such a good look on her.

For a moment, they watch the others play around in companionable silence. There's a lot of whooping and splashing each other, and Octavia's riding on Jasper's back, laughing as he runs around and repeatedly dunks her in the water, her arms tightening around his front when he does. Bellamy feels his lips twitch in a smile. "She used to love that when she was little," he tells Clarke. "She was always asking for another pony ride, even when I'd just spent half an hour with her on my back, pretending we were in a jungle."

Clarke hums quietly, almost dreamily. "Octavia's lucky, having you as her brother," she says softly.

Bellamy chuckles. His relationship with Octavia hasn't always been easy, but as far as he's concerned, _he's_ lucky to have her. She's the best part of him, the one thing he hasn't screwed up no matter how much of an idiot he's been, and that's only thanks to Octavia's good heart and nature – she's inherited every single good thing the Blakes had to offer. Clarke smiles at him, a little encouraging, as if she's waiting for him to agree with her. Bellamy sighs, uncomfortable. "I'm taking Jasper, Monroe, Harper and Fox hunting," he says, changing the subject. Their five minutes are up, anyway. "We still have enough rations to last a couple of days, but nuts won't build walls or shelters. We need fresh meat."

"You should take Miller, too," Clarke suggests. "He has good aim."

Bellamy shakes his head. "No. I need him here to protect you."

Her heart does a stupid little flip. It's stupid, because she knows that he means all of them, _not just her_, and sometimes his protective streak annoys her – _okay_, it hasn't bothered her in a long time – but she can't deny the warmth that overwhelms her at the thought that he cares so much. The smile she gives him in return is entirely too soft, and Clarke is sure Bellamy's noticed. "Take someone else, then. Make it six, split in two groups," she says. "We'll get camp settled in the meantime. I don't know about the walls, though. I don't think we can get that done in one day."

"We'll set up a guard tonight," Bellamy replies. "We don't have enough tents for everyone, so our priority has to be building shelters." He puts a hand on her knee, patting there for a second before getting up. "Hey, Jasper," he calls out, beckoning at the boy who's making his sister laugh like she's six again.

Clarke mirrors him, grabbing both their clothes and giving him his. "Five minutes, uh?" she chuckles as she puts her pants on.

Bellamy gives her a little shrug. Their five minutes were nice, and he wishes he could just stay there, too – but _they_ can't. They have a camp to run, and the kids look to them to lead; it's not easy being in charge, but it's a role he's learned to accept, not just for what it can bring him but because it's the right thing to do. "Five minutes, and nobody died. We should try again sometime," he says, his lips twitching in a smile.

Jasper's there before Clarke can say anything. She watches as Bellamy tells Jasper to gather the others and get ready to go, and she feels uneasy; she doesn't like the idea of them being apart, if only for a little while – God knows what can happen in five other minutes. Life on Earth has been nothing but a paradox: it's a world of wonders and beauty, but if the sun feels warm on her face, it's also scorched her skin. Despite the restrictions on the Ark, they'd all been healthy and strong when landing, but now they've got thick skin and scars telling the stories of everything they've been through.

And she _knows_ Bellamy. His scars are some of the deepest because he never allows himself the time to rest and heal, and in five minutes he could get himself killed because he's _stupid_ and stubborn that way.

(Yeah, _now_ that protective streak of his really annoys her.)

He feels her staring at him, and he reaches his hand to her, uselessly brushing some sand off her arm. They're not good with words, neither of them, but they don't really need them anyway. It's a small gesture but it means a dozen things. _I'll be careful. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you alone in this mess._

If her eyes linger on him a tiny bit longer as Clarke watches the hunting party leave, it's only because it's her job to worry about him.

That's what she does.

* * *

><p>They don't really talk about it; it just happens.<p>

They take the first three-hour watch – _of course they do_ – along with Monty, Jasper, Harper and Miller, and despite pretending that she was fine, Clarke falls asleep within the first hour, her head resting on his shoulder, her comforting warmth sinking into his side. Bellamy knows she'll pester him for not immediately rousing her awake; really, he can hear her tirade in his head, something along the lines of not treating her like she can't take it because she _can_ – and God, how he knows it. Clarke's not a porcelain doll; she's a princess cut from marble, and she's one of the strongest people around here. But she's also exhausted, and they all need her at the top of her game.

And when she sleeps, she looks so young and peaceful Bellamy just doesn't have the heart to wake her up. So he moves a little, adjusts her sleeping form until her head is resting on his lap, and if his fingers comb gently through her hair, it's only because he's done it with Octavia a hundred times. Clarke's hair is a bird nest, all tangled up in knots, and as he deftly undoes every single one of them – again, it's something he's done with Octavia before, that's what brothers do, or at least that's what _he_ does – Bellamy thinks of all the things they still have to do. They need real shelters; if winter is anything like what he's read about, tents won't be enough to shield them from the cold. For tonight, everyone has a roof above their head, but the shelters they've built look more like blanket forts. Raven, Wick and Monty were working on sketches for little cabins earlier, and they'll need to work on that tomorrow, which leads Bellamy to think about how they need to organize camp. Food storage, medical tent, night watch, sleeping arrangements – someone needs to think about all of that and everything else.

He's thinking about how soft Clarke's hair is despite the dirt and grim in it when Jasper taps on his shoulder. "Harper's gone to wake the others," Jasper says in a low whisper, and _damn_, has it really been two hours? It's probably the longest Clarke's slept in a row in a week; it's also the closest, most intimate they've ever been together, Bellamy realizes as he looks down at his fingers in her hair and his free arm slung over her side. And yet, even with Jasper so close, he can't pull away. "We kept a tent for you guys," Jasper goes on, nodding his head at a tent near the fire.

"Jasper…" Bellamy starts, but Jasper lifts a hand to stop him.

"After everything you've done for us, we all thought that you deserved a little something in return," Jasper says, his tone firm but his voice still laced with emotion.

Bellamy averts his gaze, looking around at their camp. They've lost so many of their friends, but here they are now, and he knows deep down that it's partly thanks to Clarke and him. Still, it doesn't mean he'll ever be comfortable with the way the kids look at him like he's a hero. He's not. The old Bellamy, _whatever the hell we want_ Bellamy, wouldn't have thought twice about it; he would even have considered it normal. But Bellamy's not like that anymore.

Jasper's hand is back on his shoulder, and the boy gives it a small squeeze. "Come on. It's just a tent," he insists gently. "We just thought you deserved your rest. If Mount Weather taught us anything, it's that some people snore," he shrugs with a smile.

It's just a tent, no big deal. And it makes sense, in a way, Bellamy thinks. He gives Jasper a nod of his head and the other boy wishes him goodnight, and his sister and Clarke and his friends are alive so maybe tonight _will_ be a good night, for once.

Bellamy looks down at the sleeping girl on his lap, and contemplates carrying her to bed for a second before remembering that so much has happened to them without their consent, because they were helpless and not in control, so he doesn't. Instead, he brushes his hand up and down her arm, gently waking her up.

Clarke stirs, her nose twitching as she slowly comes to. It takes her a minute to realize she's fallen asleep on Bellamy, and then she's sitting up, an apology in her clear blue eyes even before it can reach her mouth. "I can't believe I fell asleep," she starts, with that voice that's just _so Clarke_, like the world is going to end if she dares to blink an eye and she has to single-handedly save everybody.

Bellamy sighs softly. "Our watch's over, anyway," he says, tilting his head to Octavia and the others who are slowly waking up to take the next patrol. "They kept a tent for us. You should go to bed, I'm not tired."

"You are _not_ staying up for another three hours, Bell," Octavia's voice comes from behind them, firm and resolute, as his sister walks to them and extends a hand to Clarke, helping the still sleepy leader up. "You both look like shit."

"O," Bellamy warns, but then Clarke laughs. Not a tiny, soft chuckle, but a full-blown giggle. Bellamy's eyes widen, and Clarke's giggle just grows louder. That's it, she's gone crazy.

"She's right," Clarke finally mumbles when she calms down, a hand splayed on her stomach and the other covering her mouth as she tries to hide her grin. "You look like you haven't slept in days," she chuckles.

Octavia laughs, and Bellamy glares at her. "Well, so do you, Princess," he replies with a roll of his eyes. This conversation is surreal; but then again, what _isn't_ on Earth? "Come on, let's go to bed," he goes on, leading Clarke with a hand to the small of her back, before turning to Octavia again. "If anything happens, you –"

"Will deal with it because you taught us well," Octavia interrupts him, cocking a challenging eyebrow at him. She's not a little girl anymore, but a tornado wrapped up in a young woman, and Bellamy knows she's a force to reckon with so he lets it go. The smirk on Octavia's face as he relents is too cheeky for her own good, but Bellamy doesn't have it in him to fight tonight.

He leads Clarke to their tent, and he's about to tell her that he can go room with Miller or something when she gives him _that_ look that says that she knows what he's going to say, that it's _stupid_, and to take his clothes off because she will not have sweat and dirt in the bed. So he does.

It should be awkward, but it's _not_. He's never seen all of her skin but he's seen all of _her_ and risking their lives for each other is far more intimate than sharing a bed; Earth stripped them off of what little modesty they could have a long time ago, anyway. Clarke's already left in just her shirt and underwear when his brain kicks in and he sheds his own clothes, and they both slip under the fur blanket, silently lying beside each other in the dark for a moment.

Clarke's radiating tension and unease, a stark contrast to how calm and peaceful she'd been just mere minutes ago, and before he can overthink it Bellamy reaches for her hand. "Stop worrying," he murmurs quietly as he runs his thumb over her knuckles. "You'll have plenty of time for that come morning."

"Like _you_ ever stop worrying?" Clarke counters easily, but still he feels her relaxing as she turns her palm up to lace their fingers together.

"Touché," he grins in the dark. Bellamy's very well aware of his double standards – Octavia's called him a jerk for them about a dozen times, and that's _just_ Octavia – but even though Clarke thinks that worrying is part of her job, Bellamy's been doing it for far longer than her. It probably started around the time he noticed something was wrong with his mother; but Bellamy only ever really found out what worrying meant when she placed Octavia in his arms for the first time. With love comes pain, but it's a kind of pain he's learned how to deal with, so he knows he can take it.

He knows Clarke can take it, _too_, but if he can shoulder some of her burden, then he will.

(It's been a long road since _whatever the hell we want_, and Bellamy takes pride in it.)

"Thank you," he hears Clarke whisper, and her voice is so low Bellamy's not sure if he was supposed to hear it.

He could pretend he didn't, but he's not good at pretending, not with Clarke. "For what, Princess?" he asks, dropping her hand to turn on his side and look at her.

Moon light filters through the flap of the tent, allowing him to make out her face in the dark as Clarke tilts her head to him. There's that frown again, but her eyes are soft and unguarded. "You know why," Clarke sighs softly, like she's a little tired of him not understanding things, but not to the point of being annoyed. "For doing this with me. For being here," she says, her voice laced with a tenderness that used to be directed to anyone but him, but that now transpires so often he doesn't know what to do with it.

They've been through hell together; it's impossible for Bellamy not to feel anything for her. But late night confessions are not his forte – confessions and declarations are not his thing, no matter what time it is, really – and what is there to say, anyway? Where she goes, he follows; everything else is unthinkable at this point.

"Well, believe it or not, but you're actually the least insufferable Griffin out there, so there was no choice to make," he replies, and Clarke looks offended for about a nanosecond before her face breaks into a beaming smile. With Octavia's, it's the only thing that's more beautiful than every small wonder he's witnessed on Earth.

She still calls him a jerk as she throws a ridiculously light punch to his arm, but it's worth it because she looks like her heart feels a little less heavy. Life on Earth is made of small victories –Bellamy will let himself appreciate this one.

They both fall asleep within minutes after that. It's the best sleep they've had in months.

A week later, when they've finished building the walls and shelters, they still don't talk about it when they move in together. It just happens. He needs her and she needs him, and it makes sense, anyway. They don't _need_ to talk about it.

If Bellamy hears Jasper and Monty laugh about Mom and Dad playing house, he just rolls his eyes and lets it go. They're idiots, but they _are_ his kids no matter what, so…

(If Clarke hears them, now _that_ will be much more fun to watch.)

* * *

><p>They learn to share their burden.<p>

Bellamy relies on Miller more and more, accepts to let go of his precious control a little, and Clarke starts training Octavia and Monty. Octavia has skilled, steady hands, and Monty's good with people, so they assist her during procedures, willing to learn and help. "You need to teach us," Octavia had said one day, barging in the medical tent as Clarke was busy stitching up some kid's leg. And she was right; relying on one person wasn't smart, and it felt nice to let others help for once.

She's teaching Octavia about blood circulation and arteries one day, both leaning over a drawing of the human anatomy Clarke made, when Bellamy walks in medical, spear slung across his back and knives strapped to his belt. "We're going hunting," he announces, looking at Clarke. "Do you need anything?" he asks, and that's the thing about Bellamy; he goes straight to the point, doesn't waste time, and Clarke knows she's started to have double standards like he does when she wishes he could learn to relax, even just a little. Maybe not sit down and ask them about their day like a _normal_ person – is _any_ of them normal at this point? – but maybe not always just think in terms of survival and needs.

"Hey big brother, we're doing okay, thanks for asking," Octavia teases, as if reading Clarke's mind. Bellamy tilts his head to the side and sighs, a fond, amused spark in his eyes that's only for her.

(_Well_, sometimes he looks at her like this, too, and Clarke doesn't know what to do about it.)

He turns to her, waiting, and Clarke looks around to check on their stock of herbs and medicine. "Maybe some more of these yellow flowers," she starts, "you know, the ones we saw by the pond. They're good against colds."

Bellamy nods. Lincoln had taught Octavia about these flowers, and between the days that are getting colder and the ocean breeze, it won't be long before people start lining up at medical with running noses and sore throats. "Anything else?" Bellamy asks.

"Chocolate cake would be nice," Clarke replies with a grin. "Shampoo, too."

Bellamy rolls his eyes, but a smile reaches his lips. "Yeah, okay, I get it," he chuckles. "Yellow flowers," he mumbles as he turns to leave, reaching out to ruffle Octavia's hair on his way.

"I'm not five anymore!" she squeaks after him, and they hear Bellamy laugh outside the tent. Octavia runs her fingers in her hair, attempting to tame it, and Clarke laughs. Octavia tries to glare at her, but fails – that's something both Blakes have in common. "Someone needs to remind him I'm not a child," she says.

"He loves you," Clarke replies with a shrug. Octavia cocks an eyebrow at her, and Clarke sighs softly. "This is the first time in months that we're at peace, that nobody's actively trying to kill us –"

"Not that we know of," Octavia laughs.

Clarke grins. "True," she concedes. "He's just trying to be your big brother like he used to, Octavia. It's not easy. He's spent months fearing for your life – for everybody's lives."

Octavia's face softens. "He's good at surviving, but not much at living, uh?" she says, and there's a sadness in her voice that makes Clarke reach out, laying her hand on top of hers. "He used to be so fun," she goes on, and she sounds a hundred years old, and maybe they all do now, after everything that happened – Bellamy even more. "I love him, I really do. But all he does now is worrying himself sick over everything and treating me like a child."

"I'll talk to him tonight, if you want," Clarke offers, giving the other girl's hand a little squeeze. Octavia gives her a smile. It's small at first, and then grows, a spark of something Clarke can't quite name. "What?" she asks, confused.

"Nothing," Octavia shrugs. "I just never thought I'd see the day when _you_ of all people would become an expert on what Bell feels or thinks." She pauses, her smile growing fond and soft. "Then again, I never thought I'd see you two play house, either," she teases.

"Octavia," Clarke sighs, letting go of her hand to cross her arms over her chest. It takes her a second too long to realize how defensive the simple gesture looks, and that Octavia caught it too. "We're not _playing house_," she insists. "It's just easier to share."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Yeah, because this camp is _so huge_ it'd be _so exhausting_ to walk to one another's tent to talk. I bet you guys fall asleep talking about alliances and food rations."

Clarke opens her mouth to protest, but then closes it. She can't really deny it. More than half of her interactions with Bellamy are about survival and running camp; the rest is filled with brief, fleeting moments of raw honesty or sheer electricity neither of them knows how to deal with. Sometimes they're standing together around the table in their cabin, maps spread, talking about building another food storage or reinforcing the walls, and his fingers brush against hers and they both seem to forget what they were talking about and just stare at each other like they want to say a hundred things – and then the moment is gone. It's _always_ gone as quickly as it's come, and they have so many more important things to think about than to linger on small touches and smiles.

Octavia stands from her stool and pats her shoulder. She looks amused – that irritating Blake smirk on her face – but her voice is soft when she speaks. "I don't know what's up between you two, and even if it's fun to gossip about Mom and Dad, it's not really any of my business," she says, lifting her hand as Clarke opens her mouth to protest at the use of these stupid nicknames. "But if anyone can remind him that life isn't just about surviving, it's you."

In typical Blake fashion, Octavia is gone before Clarke can say anything.

She thinks about what Octavia said all day, and it's the first time in forever that Clarke's thoughts aren't only focused on survival either. She thinks about how Bellamy is always up before her, and only goes to bed once every task for the day is crossed off the list; how calm he's become when he used to be so hot-tempered. How they've learned to work together, how they can communicate without speaking, how seamlessly they get the job done.

And then she thinks of Unity Day and Bellamy's smile as he told her to relax and have fun for once, and their first day on the beach, and how he only smiles like that at Octavia or her now, because everybody's relying on him and he doesn't have time for that anymore. Not even five minutes.

So she decides that today, he'll get them. He deserves it.

_But_ then life happens. The hunting party comes back, and Bellamy is carrying Monroe in his arms because she sprained her ankle running away from a wild boar that was chasing after her. The boar is now being taken care of at the meat station, and Monroe's crying out of frustration while Bellamy holds her hand and tells her she did good out there with that gentle, _fatherly_ tone that is _totally_ the reason why the kids started calling them Mom and Dad.

It's just a sprain and Clarke's positive it will heal properly if Monroe actually does rest, but it still hurts and seeing their friend in pain is unbearable. In times of war they had to push past their limits, running that extra mile to survive because life is a fight and pain is an inevitable part of it; but now that they're just trying to live and make a home for themselves, it's like they're suddenly blinded by all the horror and suffering they have to witness.

Clarke prepares some tea, some herbal infusion Lincoln taught her how to make for pain, and Bellamy stays at Monroe's side. There has to still be a dozen things on his task list for the day – because, really, Bellamy just _can't _stand down and do nothing, it's almost like it'd physically hurt him – and yet here he is, a reassuring hand on Monroe's shoulder as he says something that draws a small smile on her face. Clarke watches them, and she wonders how Bellamy can't see _it_; how he can still doubt that these kids are loyal to him and look up to him because he's _worthy_ of their faith and affection. She doesn't even _remember_ how it felt to hate him.

Maybe because she _never_ really did.

Monroe dozes off quickly (side effect of the tea), and Bellamy spreads a blanket over her sleeping form. He's silent for a moment, his brow furrowed in a frown, and Clarke just stands there, not knowing if she should reach out and say something or wait for him to be ready.

(They're back in the woods and slumped against that tree, out of breath and scared to death, and she needs him to stay but it feels like all he wants to do is run away.)

"I missed," he finally says, and his voice is so low that Clarke barely catches the words. Bellamy leans his elbows on the bed, hands linked beneath his chin as his eyes never leave Monroe. "The boar was chasing her, and I threw my spear, and I _missed_," he repeats, and there's guilt dripping in his voice, but also anger. Anger at himself for not being good enough.

He's being irrational, but Clarke knows better than to say that. So she just walks to him, and gently, she lays a comforting hand on his shoulder; Bellamy reaches for it, covering her hand with his own, his thumb absently stroking her skin. "She's gonna be okay," Clarke says softly. "She's been through worse, she's tough."

"She shouldn't have to be," Bellamy argues, shaking his head as he leans against the back of his chair, closing his eyes for just a moment. "They look up to me to protect them," he whispers, lifting his free hand to rub the spot between his eyes, "_and I_ _can't_. I can't protect them from everything."

Clarke squeezes his shoulder, looking for the right words to comfort him when Bellamy's being so adamant on being the one at fault. "You're doing everything you can," she tells him, her fingers drifting from his shoulder to his neck and curling at the nape, absently stroking there. Bellamy opens his eyes and he looks just like a child, lost but praying to be found – it's possibly the most vulnerable she's ever seen him. "You can't go and blame yourself every time something goes wrong. We wouldn't even be here _without_ you," she insists, because _that's_ the thing Bellamy tends to forget all the time. What she told Jaha months ago before the Ark came down is still true: Bellamy is a huge reason why they're still alive, trained and ready to fight and defend themselves.

"Don't sell yourself short, Princess," Bellamy says, a soft sigh escaping his lips as the nickname rolls on his tongue. "The kids would follow you anywhere."

"Maybe," Clarke admits, "but it doesn't mean I would know what to do without you."

That seems to get to him more than anything else. Neither of them is good at admitting they don't know what to do or can't do something, but this is true: Clarke knows she could have never done any of this without him, because maybe she's the head but Bellamy's the heart and you can't function without one or the other.

The corner of his mouth twitches in a small, grateful smile, and then he's up on his feet, grabbing his bag on the floor. "I found your flowers," he says, and _okay_, the moment's over. He hands Clarke the yellow flowers, and then lifts a hand to the back of his neck, looking away. "I also got you something," he adds – and is it _nervousness_ she can hear in his tone? Bellamy's _never_ nervous.

Clarke's eyebrows rise in surprise; she was just _joking_ about chocolate cake and shampoo, but she's deeply moved that he'd still want to do something for her. He hands her a small pouch, and she empties its content on the examination table: dark, blue berries. She looks up at him, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Are you trying to _poison_ me?" she asks with a chuckle. "Some kids got sick after eating these, don't you remember?"

"I know," Bellamy replies, lifting a hand in defense. "I just, I thought…" he starts, his hand dropping at his side. "I just thought that since we can't eat them, maybe you could use them to make some paint? Like, maybe mash them up? I don't know." Clarke stares at him like she's seeing him for the first time, and Bellamy averts his gaze. "I don't know what I was thinking. This was a dumb idea, right?" he scoffs.

Clarke breaks out of her reverie, reaching out for his hand. "God, no! Bellamy…" she says, his name soft in her mouth as she tugs at his hand until he looks up at her. "This is adorable, okay? Thank you."

He stares back at her, at first like he's trying to figure out if she really likes his gift or if she's just being nice, and then his face softens, the uncertainty fading as he gives her a small smile. "You're welcome, Princess," he says, and she can feel her own lips tug up in a smile. There used to be venom in his mouth in the beginning when he called her that, but now it's replaced her name easily and it feels nice. "Anyway," Bellamy goes on as he turns to leave. "I still have things to do, so –"

"No."

Bellamy turns around, his brow furrowed in a frown. "_No?_" he repeats, confused and a little amused, if the way he lazily crosses his arms over his chest is any indication.

Clarke grins. "No," she just repeats. The moment's gone but she doesn't want it to be, so she won't let him go. "You've been hunting all morning, and you just came back. You deserve a break."

"Clarke," Bellamy says with a little sigh. "I don't have time for a break."

She cocks an eyebrow at him as she mirrors him and crosses her arms over her chest, too, leaning her hip against the examination table. "Come on. What do you have to do that's so important it can't wait five minutes?" she asks.

Bellamy chuckles, looking at her like she's got some nerve using his own double standards against him. Clarke just shrugs; she won't back down from this. "I need to go see Raven and Wick, because they've been working on making radios and walkies, and we're gonna need them if we want to go explore the area. Until Lincoln is back, we don't know how safe it is around here," he explains. "Then I need to talk with Monty and Jasper and everyone from Agro Station, because we're gonna need to grow our own food if we're here to stay. We might as well start as soon as possible, and –"

"And _you_ don't have to do all of this on your own," Clarke interrupts him. "The world is not gonna end because you take five minutes off," she tells him, echoing his own words. Bellamy frowns, ready to argue, but Clarke just shakes her head before walking to him and placing her hands on his arms. "Bellamy," she speaks his name softly but firmly, just like she would with a child – which is kind of ironic considering she has no experience with children and Bellamy's the one who raised his sister. "Even if Raven and Wick were done with the walkies, you just came back from hunting. You are _not_ leading another group out scouting today. And Monty and Jasper are smart enough not to need you to tell them to put their skills to use."

"Monty and Jasper are probably busy trying to make some more moonshine," Bellamy snickers.

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Maybe. So what?" she shrugs. "We're alive. Seems like a good enough reason to party. You need to learn how to relax, have fun a little."

At that, Bellamy actually laughs. "You talk the talk, Princess, but I don't see you _having fun_," he says with a chuckle.

He's right. So she tells him, and then she grabs his hand and leads him out of medical – calls out to Octavia and tells her to go check on Monroe in a couple of hours, and Octavia beams at them, goddamn Blake smile lighting up her face – and then out of camp, straight to the beach. She can feel Bellamy stare at the back of her head as she leads him, but he doesn't say anything for once; just follows her, like she would follow him anywhere.

"Don't you think it's a little bit cold to go skinny-dipping?" he asks with that _tone_, and if Clarke shivers, it's only because of the ocean breeze. Certainly not because of the seduction dripping in his voice, because, come on, this is _Bellamy_; she's not sure he could actually utter that sentence without using that tone. He's ridiculous like that.

Besides, even if she did find him attractive – she does – it doesn't mean that she's going to let him see that one little sentence is enough to make her envision things that are not strictly survival-related. "You wish," Clarke teases him before dropping to her knees on the sand, patting a spot next to her. "You and I are gonna build a sandcastle," she tells him like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Bellamy looks at her like she's gone crazy, but Clarke just gazes back at him, tilting her head to the side in the best puppy manner she knows; Bellamy doesn't look impressed. _Yeah_, well, maybe she hasn't really worked on her puppy look since she was five, but, _still_. "I'm not building a sandcastle with you," he says, because, _damn_, he's twenty-three and he has a group of kids looking up to him and _what the hell_?

"Yes, you _are_," Clarke just says, tugging at his hands until he's on his knees beside her. "Ever since I was a little girl, I've dreamed about this," she tells him, and this is true. Her dad used to read her stories about the sea, mermaids and sailors and magic, but whenever he showed her books about the ocean shore, all she could think about was playing in the sand.

"If this is your idea of _fun_, we need to have a serious talk," Bellamy sighs heavily, and the sound is so fake, so exaggerated, Clarke bursts out laughing. He pretends to be offended, and it just makes her laugh even more.

"Come on, Bellamy," Clarke chides him. "We're not supposed to be _serious_ right now. _You_ don't have to be serious all the time," she adds, a little softer. "Build a sandcastle with me," she pleads in a murmur.

She locks her eyes with his, and maybe the puppy look holds a certain charm, or maybe, just maybe, he can't say no to her, because Bellamy rolls his eyes – again – but then smiles. "You can't tell the kids," he warns her.

Clarke shakes her head, beaming. "_You're_ a kid, Bellamy," she laughs as she starts digging in the sand, "stop acting like you're so ancient."

For that, she gets a handful of sand in her hair, but it's worth it.

Their sandcastle is nothing but a shapeless pile of wet sand. Bellamy grows frustrated with it after twenty minutes because how in the hell can it be so hard to build a stupid sandcastle (like, _really_?) and Clarke just grins and starts drawing in the sand with a wood stick. "Wow," Bellamy says under his breath. "You're good."

Clarke laughs. They're just silly little doodles in the sand, nothing like what she could do with charcoal or paint on a canvas. "Wanna try?" she asks, extending the stick to him.

Bellamy chuckles. "Nope. I can't draw."

"Come on," Clarke pushes, giving his arm a light punch. "Show me your artistic side, Bellamy Blake."

(By the time they return to camp, it's almost nightfall, and Clarke's added three new items on her list of things she knows about Bellamy. One: he can actually be fun when he allows himself to. Two: he can sing – he told her stories about Octavia when she was just a kid, how she could get scared and wouldn't calm down until he sang to her.

And three: for one afternoon, he made her feel like _living_.)

* * *

><p>They have their first big fight when Lincoln returns, which makes no sense to the rest of the camp because he's bearing good news; the clan he visited is interested in making an alliance, and that's more than they expected or hoped. And yet, the kids – and that includes Wick, who's rolled his eyes so many times at the way these kids treat Clarke and Bellamy like they're their actual parents – have been wrapped up listening to them yell at each other for the past half hour, the thin wooden walls of their cabin covering nothing.<p>

Actually, _Clarke's_ the one yelling; they can't hear Bellamy, but it's not hard to imagine what he's saying to piss the princess off so much.

Bellamy rubs at his temple, feeling a migraine pounding there. "You're being _irrational_, Clarke," he says calmly, and he's not trying to be a condescending asshole, really, but she _is_.

"_I'm_ being irrational?" Clarke snaps, her eyes widening like she can't believe he just said that to her. "You want to go there by yourself, without me, just because you think I can't handle myself, and I'm being irrational?" she asks, her voice getting louder with every word. "You are _not_ going there alone, Bellamy." There's a finality to her words that scares her a little bit. Where he goes, she follows, that's just the way it is between them now. How can he even suggest otherwise?

Bellamy sighs, laying his hands flat on their table; she's standing on the other side, and it's been such a long time since they've confronted each other instead of standing side by side, it kind of feels like a slap in the face. "Clarke," he speaks her name softly, cautiously, like he's the hunter and she's the fox and he doesn't want to scare her off. "Someone needs to stay here. You can't leave the camp without a leader."

"They listen to Miller," Clarke argues. "He's smart, he thinks fast, he can do this."

"And what if something happens?" Bellamy counters, his knuckles turning white as he clenches his fingers around the edge of the table. The urge to hit something is strong, and it used to feel so familiar but now it's become foreign and it scares him; he doesn't want Clarke to see him like this. He doesn't want to go back to the old Bellamy who punches first and then asks questions. She calms him, tempers him; they do that for each other – they make each other better. But right now, she's frustrating him so much he doesn't know how to deal with it.

"Then what?" Clarke asks, sounding just as frustrated. "You trust Miller, and I trust him too. He's always been your second. Why are you doubting him now?"

"It's not about that," Bellamy sighs as he closes his eyes for just a second. It's hard to focus when Clarke is staring at him with these big, blue eyes. "The camp needs a strong leader," he says, and it's such a shitty excuse he wants to slap himself. This is so _not_ about Miller. "Someone needs to stay, and that will be you."

Clarke's fuming, but she takes a deep breath and lifts a conciliatory hand between them. "Even if I agreed with you about one of us staying here – _and I don't_ – why would it be _me_?" she asks. "You're the soldier. You're the one who led us into battle. You trained us. If something happens, you'd do more good here than I could."

Bellamy looks up at her like she's burned him. "And let you go out there alone instead? No fucking way, Clarke. That's not happening." His arms fall at his sides, his hands balling into tight fists – if he doesn't get out soon, he'll end up punching a hole in the wall. "We are not discussing this."

Clarke crosses to him in an angry stride. "Do you really think this is the moment to go all alpha male on me?" she spits, stopping just in front of him, her chest heaving as she breathes hard and fast. "I can take care of myself. I've proved it time and time again. And if you're so adamant on someone staying here, there's no reason why we can't sit down and talk about this like adults."

"You're acting like a child right now!" Bellamy yells, and he regrets the words as soon as they come out, but he can't take them back.

And then her hand connects with his jaw, hard, and Bellamy has to bite on the inside of his cheek not to yell at her. He glares at her, and he expects her to take a step back; instead, Clarke just stares back at him, fire in her eyes. "Was that childish enough for you?" she asks. Her voice trembles at the end, and any other day that would be enough for him to forgive her, but there's too much fury pumping in his veins right now. So he does the one thing he promised he never would, but it's still better than to lash out on her.

He leaves.

Clarke watches him go and it takes her a second too long to react. There's an apology on her tongue as she takes a step forward to reach for him, grab him, make him stay, but he's already out and she can hear him yelling at someone. And she freezes on the spot. Because she can perfectly imagine the rest of their people gathering in front of their cabin, alarmed at the sound of their two leaders fighting, and she can't face them. She _can't_.

They've fought before, of course they have; God, they used to _hate_ each other, or at least he hated her and she didn't want to play with a wild card like him in her deck. But it's never escalated so quickly, never reached that level of intensity. Clarke looks down at her hand and it's still burning from slapping him, and as her heart races painfully in her chest, she realizes it's not even anger that's leaving her reeling. It's _fear_. When Lincoln's news should have relieved her, it did nothing but scare her even more as Bellamy started talking about going alone to meet with that clan. He's such an idiot, and she's so sorry – _but_ he's an idiot and, really, how can he expect her to agree with him when he's basically saying that her life matters more than his? They're in this _together_; going off on his own because of some twisted sense of chivalry or nobility is not part of the deal. It's just not, and it makes no sense at all.

She startles when the door opens again, his name falling off her lips in a low whisper. But it's not Bellamy; instead, Raven stands at the entry of the cabin, a sympathetic look on her face that says she's not here to argue and pick a side. "Just so you know, everybody's freaking out about Mom and Dad getting a divorce," she says lightly, and any other day it would make Clarke laugh, because the more annoyed she looks as they call them that, the more they keep calling them that, so what's the point in fighting it? Today, though, it's just too much because Bellamy's never walked out on her like that and she's terrified they've just damaged their dynamic forever. So when the first frustrated tear drops on her cheek, and then a second, and a third, Clarke doesn't even try to hold them back.

Raven's arms are around her in no time, and Clarke cries in her friend's arms and it feels _good_. She can't remember the last time she allowed herself to cry like this, to just let it out, and it just feels so good to have someone she can cry in front of and feel no shame about it. "It's okay, Clarke, just let it out," Raven soothes, her grip strong as she keeps her steady.

They hold each other for a while, and for that Clarke is grateful. It's in moments like these that she realizes how starved she is for human closeness, for the feel of having somebody's arms wrapped around her or fingers laced with hers. Not just for protection, not just to keep warm – but because someone would care about her and she would care about them.

(Not just _anyone_, a little voice in her head says, and this is true: sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night and Bellamy's snoring in her ear, face nuzzled in her hair or in the crook of her neck and an arm looped around her, or she's curled to his side, and maybe it's just all about seeking each other's warmth, but this is _Bellamy_ and everything is different when it comes to him.)

Raven slowly pulls away, lifting her hands to Clarke's shoulders. "What happened in here?" she asks gently as she moves to sit Clarke on a chair by the table and takes a seat, facing her.

Clarks sniffs and brings a hand to her face, wiping at her tears. She's not ashamed of crying in front of Raven, but she does feel angry with herself for letting the situation get to her to the point where she'd lose control of her own emotions like this. "Bellamy wants to go meet with the clan on his own, and he refuses to even listen to me suggest otherwise," she tries to explain calmly, but the anger is still raw in her voice, making her shake in the aftermath. "He wants me to stay here to take care of the camp. He wants me to let him go there alone and he expects me to be okay with it."

"And I take it you're not?" Raven asks, and coming from anyone else Clarke would think they're just playing with her, but not with Raven. It's pretty obvious that she's not okay; but Raven doesn't go and assume that she knows people's feelings better than them. That's one of the things Clarke loves most about her.

She takes a deep breath and it _hurts_ because there's a lump in her throat and her stomach is in knots; just thinking about the idea of Bellamy being gone is enough to make her panic. She's a doctor, after all, she recognizes the signs: she can't breathe properly and her heart's racing, colliding painfully against the walls of her chest; she's shivering, and it's not from cold; and she can't shake that feeling of anguish that's overwhelming her, the irrational fear that something terrible will happen if she and Bellamy are separated. Except it's _not_ irrational at all, not after everything they've been through.

"I'm scared something will happen to him," she admits quietly, looking down at her lap, and it might be the first time she allows herself to voice it out, to let the words hang in the air. She's scared. She's scared of losing him, and maybe it's not healthy to depend on him so much, but she does. Clarke cares about him and she needs him, and it's not just about co-leading or survival – Bellamy means so much more to her than that. "Nothing good ever happens when we're apart," she finishes in a whisper.

Raven reaches out with her hand, gently laying it on her knee. Clarke doesn't need to elaborate much more; they both know what she's talking about. "And did you tell him?" she asks. "The _real_ reason why you don't want him to go?"

Clarke shakes her head. _Of course not_. They've gotten better at opening up and letting their guard down, but if expressing her gratitude or affection comes a little more easily now, it's still hard to admit her weaknesses. And _this_ is a weakness, this pang at her heart upon envisioning all the ways she could lose him and literally feeling paralyzed just at the thought.

"You know I'm not into giving unsolicited advice," Raven goes on, and Clarke looks up at her, the smallest smile ghosting on her lips. "But the way I see it, Bellamy can be just as stubborn as you are, and the only way to make him see your side is to be honest with him. No bullshit, no dancing around it, just the truth. You guys have gotten pretty good at that, yeah?" she presses.

Clarke gives her a small nod. The truth is, she and Bellamy can work seamlessly together; they've developed their own code, they understand each other like no one else, they've learned to compromise about many things, but it doesn't mean it's _easy_. They're not as different as they initially thought, but they can still often find themselves at odds and like Raven pointed out, they're both incredibly stubborn. "What if he doesn't change his mind?"

Raven shrugs. Once again, coming from anyone else Clarke would think they don't care at all, but that's just the way Raven is. "Then he doesn't. But at least, you know you gave it your best shot." She gives her knee a squeeze. "Now, do you want to go talk to him or do you want to indulge in some girl time?" she asks, a smirk growing on her lips.

Clarke laughs. It sounds a little bubbly, because _God_, she can still feel tears prickling at her eyes, but it's genuine. "Girl time? Like, sharpen our knives, patch up each other's wounds, talk about boys?"

"You know there's nothing I love more than sharpening my knives and patching up your wounds and talking about boys," Raven replies with a chuckle.

So they do. Well, their knives are already as sharp as it gets and luckily they have no wounds to patch up, so they talk and talk until Clarke feels like she can breathe again. When Raven eventually leaves, Clarke feels like there's a weight that's been lifted off her chest.

God, how good it feels to have _friends_.

She sits at the table a moment longer, pondering on whether going after Bellamy or not. Part of her wants him to come back – he's the one who stormed out, after all – and a bigger part of her _needs_ him to; she's scared and she needs the reassurance that no matter how bad it gets between them, they're in this together. And maybe it's childish, maybe Bellamy is right about that, but Clarke doesn't really care anymore. What's so wrong about needing a little reassurance when nothing has gone right since they took their first steps on Earth?

She doesn't ponder on it for long, because almost as if on cue, there's a knock on the door, followed by Bellamy standing at the threshold – they're ever in sync, even when it seems like they're falling apart. "Can I come in?" he asks, and it's a ridiculous question because this is _his_ house, _too_, but there's nothing funny in his soft, hesitant tone, so Clarke gives him a nod of her head – she's not sure she can trust her voice not to tremble right now.

He takes the seat previously occupied by Raven, and surprises her – _maybe them both?_ – by reaching for her hands, gently holding them in his calloused, scarred ones. Hers are, too; they match. "I'm sorry for leaving like that," Bellamy starts, visibly forcing himself to look her in the eye as he speaks. It's not so much that it seems hard for him to apologize, but like he wants her to see he's being genuine. "I shouldn't have dismissed your opinion and your feelings, and I shouldn't have treated you like a child." It sounds like something straight out of Octavia's mouth, and the thought makes Clarke's lips twitch in a small smile. "And I'm sorry for acting like I am entitled to make decisions for you," he finishes, and yeah, this has Octavia written all over it, but who cares?

Bellamy never apologizes. It's not so much that he thinks he's better than that; it's just that he just always keeps putting one foot in front of the other and moves on, ready to face the consequences of his actions no matter what. And yet, here he is.

_Here he is_.

She wants to apologize, too; she slapped him, yelled at him, and it's not acceptable either. But the words that tumble out of her mouth are not an apology. "I'm scared of losing you," she confesses, and it's weird because she thought it would be a lot scarier to admit it to Bellamy than it was with Raven, but it's not. It's the truth. And sometimes it's overwhelming and humbling and painful, but in that moment, it just feels right.

She half expects him to say something along the lines of not being able to promise her she won't lose him because this planet is fucked-up, really, and any of them could die any day. But he doesn't. Instead, Bellamy's lips twitch in a smile before he speaks, his eyes boring into hers, straight to her soul. "_Yeah_? Well, join the club, Princess. Why do you think I wanted you to stay here?" he asks softly. "And don't tell me you really believe I think you can't handle yourself," he adds immediately, because, _really_? He might be an ass half the time, but he would need to be completely stupid to ever underestimate her.

Clarke's eyes widen slightly, almost imperceptibly, but Bellamy knows her too well not to notice it. He's grown so attuned to her he can tell the slightest changes in her; her breathing, her posture, _everything_. "No," she whispers, her fingers tightening around his, and it's the truth. She didn't really believe it; but it was easier than to let herself believe that the reason why he was so adamant on leaving her behind was because he cared and wanted to protect her.

"We need to work on this," Bellamy goes on, freeing one of his hands to gesture at the small space between them. "The talking part."

"Instead of yelling at each other?" Clarke offers with a small smile of her own, placing her free hand on his knee.

"Oh, no," Bellamy shakes his head. "We definitely need to keep yelling at each other. Spices things up."

Clarke snorts and rolls her eyes; Bellamy just laughs – it feels _right_. They'll need to talk about this, but it can wait, at least just a minute. Right now, there's a relief in the feel of her hand in his, and knowing that they can always find their way back to each other.

(It's not always easy, but then again, nothing ever is. They don't always know how to articulate what they feel, and there's still some yelling sometimes, but they learn to say the things they're scared of.

They say _I'm scared of losing_ you and _be careful_ like others say _I love you_.

It feels good.)

* * *

><p>He has nightmares; she has horrible dreams. It's the things he's done that haunt him; it's the possibility of having it all and losing it that tortures her.<p>

The first time it happens, it's Bellamy who startles awake gasping for air, distraught and disoriented, and Clarke reacts on instinct as she wraps her arms around him so tightly nothing or no one could pull them apart. Bellamy tenses but he doesn't pull away; he breathes heavily in her neck, his body still shaking, and his grip is strong and almost crushing when his arms finally snake around her but Clarke doesn't mind because he's her courage when she loses hope so she'll be his anchor when he's falling apart.

And he _is_. She's never seen him like this and it's terrifying because she just doesn't know what to do, _if_ there's even something she can do. So Clarke just holds him, one hand combing through his messy curls, the other stroking down his back, and he's shaking and her heart is breaking _for_ him and _with_ him. Bellamy's always so tough, it physically hurts her to see him like this.

They don't talk about it on that night. They don't talk at all. She feels tears roll down his cheeks and onto her skin and she starts crying, too; presses her lips against his forehead, his temple, his neck; hums a song her father used to love. It lasts a minute or an hour; maybe all night, until eventually Clarke moves to lie down and Bellamy follows, and he's heavy as he lies on top of her but Clarke just shifts her knees open to allow him in, his body fitting snugly against hers, his every hard plane molding against her every soft curve, his face buried in her neck as he breathes her in, his mouth hot against her skin. She soothes him until he drifts off to sleep, and Clarke just watches him for a long time until the tight frown on his face melts and she can feel him relax against her, the hand gripping at her hip loosening its hold despite staying there, his fingers warm as they curl around her flesh.

She's already awake when he comes to in the morning, and Bellamy looks up at her like she's the sun and maybe in that moment she _is_. His eyes are still clouded and haunted, but they soften as she gives him a small, tentative smile. "Hey," Clarke says softly, reaching out to push his hair away from his eyes. "You okay?"

Yes. No. It's a simple question but there's no simple answer. "Yeah," Bellamy finally settles on as he pushes himself off her a little, bracing his elbows around her head as he hovers over her. Every inch of their bodies are touching, but nothing feels as intimate as the look in her eyes, worry and concern and care for him shining in the deep blue. "Thank you," he says before bending his head to press his lips on her jaw, his forehead leaning against her temple.

Clarke doesn't say _you're welcome_; she's here for him, no questions asked, in whatever capacity he needs her – _always_. Instead, she asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Bellamy rolls on his side and she immediately misses his warmth, but then he's gently grabbing at her hip and tugging her towards him, and she fits perfectly against him, her head tucked under his chin and her hand flat over his heart.

And then he starts speaking.

He tells her about Atom, Charlotte, the culling, his mother, and everything else he blames himself for, and the list is so long but half of it has nothing to do with him; there's nothing he could have done to keep things from happening and Clarke knows – _hopes_ – that deep down, Bellamy's aware of that. But it's so much harder to slay their demons at night, so she promises herself she'll do everything she can to help.

That morning, they stay in bed until her stomach growls and it makes Bellamy laugh, and, _God_, she needed that so bad. Nobody comes looking for them; the world doesn't end because their five precious minutes turn into a couple of hours doing nothing but staying in each other's arms. When they finally go out, Octavia is taking care of some kid in med bay, Miller and Monty are out hunting and collecting herbs with a group of kids; Raven and Jasper are playing darts because, _come on_, living is more fun than surviving.

It's true. So Bellamy and Clarke join them. Bellamy wins – of course he does, and Raven _whines_ because it's totally unfair to let an ex-guard play, so of course Bellamy rubs it in her face and teases her, and he's laughing and then they're all laughing and maybe this is what living feels like.

Moments later, Bellamy's the one whining because what's the point of winning if there's no prize? Clarke rolls her eyes at him. "You're such a child sometimes, Bellamy," she chuckles, and then she rises on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his.

If Bellamy's surprised – he _totally_ is, and so is she, but then again neither of them _really_ is because this has months in the making – he doesn't let it show. He cups her face with one hand as the other goes to her waist, and it's such a stupid thrill that he can almost span the small of her back with it that Clarke grins against his mouth before curling her fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer to her.

Jasper totally whoops and asks if he'll get a kiss like that if he wins next time.

(Octavia is so mad she missed it that Bellamy rolls his eyes and makes a show of kissing Clarke breathless.

Neither seems to mind.)

* * *

><p><em>the end<em>


End file.
